007之金枪人 The Man with the Golden Gun (1974)【完整台词】

Our sector's here

and we're receiving her
signal from somewhere

off this coastline off shore here.

Now, here it is on a
much larger scale.

That's where she is.

In this group of small islands.

That's all we need,
Red Chinese waters.

Well, we could stray
inadvertently into them, sir.

I could fly low under
their radar screen.

Absolutely out of the question.

If the PM gets to hear of this,

He'll hang me from the yardarm.

Officially, you won't know
a thing about it, sir.

There's a small seaplane
approaching your island.

Do you want us to take any action?

No. No, please don't do anything.

Yes, it's a guest I'm expecting.

No, he won't be leaving.

I am Nick Nack.

I prefer the '62 myself.

Still, beats a bag of peanuts.

Monsieur Scaramanga will
welcome you personally.

Forgive me, Mr Bond.

A vulgar display, but
I couldn't resist it

because I am so delighted
to see you again.

A harmless toy.

I am, as you can see
now, completely unarmed.

Cigarette?

We have so much in
common, Mr Bond.

We have so much to discuss,

and we will never have
this opportunity again.

Ours is the loneliest profession,

so let us spend a few
pleasant hours together.

How can I refuse such a
gracious invitation?

Splendid. Splendid.

Nick Nack, I expect you
to surpass yourself.

He's a Cordon Bleu, you know.

By the way, where's
Miss Goodnight?

Oh, she's around here somewhere.

There's no way for her to leave,

so she does as she pleases.

How do you like my island?

A bit off the beaten
track, isn't it?

It's rent-free. I do my
landlords an occasional favour.

A cosy arrangement.

Servant problem, I suppose.

Not at all.

Nick Nack does for me very nicely.

Usually there's
just the two of us,

but having guests is
no inconvenience.

We're entirely self-supporting.

We have every electrical
Labour saving device

you could possibly think of.

This is an air lock, as
you are doubtless aware.

Automatic, of course.

Naturally, we have an ample
supply of electricity here.

Let me show you.

This should run a few
electric toothbrushes.

Up here.

A solar energy station.

So this is what it's all about.

Thermoelectric
generators to convert

solar energy into electricity.

All built by Hai Fat's
construction company, no doubt.

Somehow I seem to have
inherited it from him.

It's all fully automated.

That's Kra, maintenance
and security.

He looks after everything in here.

Nick Nack does
everything else when

he isn't polishing the silver.

They tell me the electricity
is stored in here somewhere.

Science was never my strong point.

Superconductivity coils
cooled by liquid helium.

If I were you, I wouldn't
stick my finger,

or anything else for
that matter, in there.

At 453 degrees below zero,

that liquid helium would
break it off like an icicle.

You really know far more
about it than I do, Mr Bond.

I'm arranging for every country
that can afford the price

to send their experts here
to see for themselves.

But no solex until the money
is in the bank. Right?

Right.

I have run across
similar situations.

Not what I've got here.

This way the highest
bidder can build

hundreds of these stations

and sell franchises
for hundreds more.

He will literally have
the sun in his pocket.

A monopoly on solar power.

The oil sheiks will
pay you just to

keep solar energy off the market.

The thought had occurred to me.

This is the collection point.

Ah. So that's where it belongs.

Our famous solex in
the still down there

transmits heat to the
thermal generators.

It's collected through this?

But where is it collected from?

You need the sun.

Watch that mushroom-shaped rock.

Ingenious, isn't it?

The panels lock on to the sun and
then track it automatically.

Something like that, yes.

Ah.

Reflected through this, those
panels must produce a heat

of at least 3,500
degrees Fahrenheit.

If you say so, Mr Bond.

But I do know that we can focus
the power wherever we want.

Over here. I'll show you.

This is a bonus.

Goes with the solex.
No extra charge.

This is the part I really like.

Now, that's what I
call solar power.

That's what I call trouble.

You must admit, Mr Bond,
I am now undeniably

the Man with the Golden Gun.

Ah. Lunch.

This way, Mr Bond.

Ah. Miss Goodnight.

James.

Aren't we a little
overdressed, Goodnight?

I like a girl in a bikini.

No concealed weapons.

Miss Goodnight, please. Mr Bond.

Now let's see what
Nick Nack has for us.

Ah. Mushrooms.

The fried mushroom looks
terribly interesting.

Yes, I noticed that. I'll
get around to it later.

Having fun in the sun, Goodnight?

Yes.

I could stay here forever.

Excellent.

Slightly reminiscent
of a '34 Mouton.

Then I must add it to my cellar.

You live well, Scaramanga.

At a million dollars a contract,
I can afford to, Mr Bond.

You work for peanuts.

A hearty "well done" from
Her Majesty the Queen

and a pittance of a pension.

Apart from that, we are the same.

To us, Mr Bond.

We are the best.

There's a useful four-letter word,

and you're full of it.

When I kill, it's on the specific
orders of my government.

And those I kill are
themselves killers.

Oh, come, come, Mr Bond.

You disappoint me.

You get as much fulfilment
out of killing as I do,

so why don't you admit it?

I admit killing you
would be a pleasure.

You should've done that
when you first saw me.

But then of course the
English don't consider it

sporting to kill in
cold blood, do they?

Don't count on that.

I could've shot you
down when you landed

but that would've been
ridiculously easy.

You see, Mr Bond, like
every great artist,

I want to create an indisputable

masterpiece once in my lifetime.

The death of 007,

mano a mano,

face to face,

will be mine.

You mean, stuffed and displayed
over your rocky mantelpiece?

That's an amusing idea, but I was
thinking in terms of history.

A duel between titans.

My golden gun against
your Walther PPK.

Each of us with a 50-50 chance.

Six bullets to your one?

I only need one.

Sounds a bit
old-fashioned, doesn't it?

I mean, pistols at dawn,
that sort of thing.

Indeed, it is, Mr Bond,

but it still remains the only
true test for gentlemen.

I doubt if you qualify
on that score.

However, I accept.

As soon as I finish
this delicious lunch

that Nick Nack has
prepared for us.

Messieurs, I will remind you
this is un duel à la Mort.